


Not as Panicked as the Situation Probably Warrants

by Orvid



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Drunk Sex, Fluff, Hangover, Implied Sexual Content, Incest, M/M, Morning After, Oral Sex, Sibling Incest, Trans Character, Vaginal Sex, can you tell ive never had a hangover?, eragon dont mind, eragon dont mind that either, eragon really does have a lovely ass, hes also a hopeless romantic, its canon probably, murtagh is a bossy bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-02-19 21:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13132203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orvid/pseuds/Orvid
Summary: Eragon got the impression that talking about this was not going to be on the list of options Murtagh had started to give. As the uncomfortable silence started creeping back in, Eragon realized that he kind of didn’t have a plan for talking about this either. What was the etiquette for the morning after accidental drunken sex with your own brother? Fuck, his head was pounding.aka the fic where they get really smashed, fuck each other, then have to deal with it the next morning.





	1. Chapter 1

When Eragon opened his eyes for the first time that morning he instantly shut them again. He didn’t think it was actually all that bright in his room, but the light made his head ache. Well, it made his head ache  _ more _ . And so, with his eyes still resolutely shut, Eragon tried to gather his bearings.

His head throbbed with the beat of his heart and Eragon sent up a silent prayer of thanks for the silence he woke up to. His tongue felt thick and a mildly sick taste lingered in his mouth. Had he thrown up? He had been drinking, that much was for sure. Why had he been drinking again? He kept his eyes closed as he turned his sluggish thoughts back to the previous night.

He was in Ellesméra, Eragon realized; he’d been there for a week or two. Last night there had been some sort of celebration, a gala, or maybe just a feast. Eragon couldn’t remember what the occasion was; maybe there hadn’t been one. Either way, there had been drinks. He recalled, with increasing difficulty, the endless piles of food, the melodious voices of the elves, and the fey magic that they always seemed to pull up. He remembered talking to Murtagh about...  _ something _ , then later staggering up the stairs to his house. It was a miracle and a half that he hadn’t fallen. But after that... Nothing. That was all he could remember.

Eragon stirred slightly then fell still again as pain raced up his arm. His left arm had gone numb and when he tried to twitch his fingers, pins and needles prickled along its length. Save for the pain in his arm however, Eragon felt comfortable and warm.  _ That’s strange... _ Eragon thought dully. Wait, why was that strange? It took Eragon a long minute to realize that he was naked and without his usual soft blankets.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Eragon worked his eyes open. Squinting at first, he gave them time to adjust so hopefully the light wouldn’t pain his head so much. Eventually, he managed to focus on the ceiling over his head. He stared at it for a while before he mustered up the motivation to look down.

He didn’t panic as much as he probably should have.

He was lying on his back on his bed where the blankets had been thrown off to the side. He might have felt cold if not for the arm across his torso. Eragon followed it up to the body hot against his side and then to the face of his brother, resting heavily on his left shoulder. He was drooling, Eragon realized without any real emotion. Eragon had his left arm draped across Murtagh’s back; his hand laid gently over the point where his scar passed over his spine. His eyes shifted to that scar bisecting his back and stared at it for a few minutes until he had to accept that, yes, Murtagh was definitely  _ also naked _ .

“Shit.”

He closed his eyes again.

Now with a touch of desperation, Eragon tried to recall just what he and Murtagh had been talking about last night. He thought he remembered commenting that Murtagh had looked a bit drunk, which was odd, because Murtagh didn’t drink. But then he remembered, at Murtagh’s prompting, looking over at Thorn and seeing the- four, five?- empty barrels around him. He recalled giving Murtagh a laugh then sliding him over a glass.  _ “...If Thorn is gonna get you drunk anyways, you should, at the very least, enjoy some yourself...” _ In disjointed flashes, Eragon saw himself and his brother grow more and more tipsy until he grabbed Murtagh’s arm and pulled him up. They both staggered over to Eragon’s home, giggling all the while and, this time, Eragon was aware of his brother behind him as he recalled lurching up the steep staircase.

Even before he tried to remember what had occured after they got up, he knew. Something deep in his heart that he simply couldn’t deny told him the truth, that it really had happened.

Well, that, and he could see the finger shaped bruises splayed over Murtagh’s ass.

Returning to his blurry recollections, Eragon remember the heat and sweat of their bodies and the sloppy kisses they licked into each others mouths. He recalled the feeling of hickeys (he was starting to realize he was covered in them) and a heat closing around his cock. Everything ran together. Yet somehow, with unnerving clarity, he could remember the moment where he had stripped Murtagh of the last piece of his clothes. He could see the look of him and-  _ huh, that’s interesting- _ he could feel the way he had looked at him and, gods, the way Murtagh had  _ looked back _ -

Eragon’s eyes snapped open. “Okay, I think that’s enough remembering for now.”

Eragon flinched slightly as he felt Murtagh stir at the sound of his voice. After a moment of consideration, Eragon prodded him in the shoulder and said, “Are you awake? Murtagh?”

He let out a muffled groan.

“Come on, Murtagh, you need to wake up.”

Murtagh released another groan, a little clearer this time, then mumbled, “Eragon? Fuck man, why’d you have to wake me up? I feel awful...”

Eragon frowned. “Yeah, big surprise. Do you have any idea how much we drank last night?”

Eragon watched Murtagh’s brow furrow slightly in response. “I don’t drink.”

“When Thorn’s already been drinking for you, you do.”

“Fuck- shi- it doesn’t matter. Either way, I am  _ not _ dealing with a hangover. I’m going back to bed; don’t wake me up again.”

Eragon scowled and jabbed Murtagh’s shoulder again. “No, no- Murtagh, come on, wake up and smell the roses; we need to have a talk.”

“What,” Murtagh asked with an amused lilt to his voice, “did we fuck last night?”

“Yeah.” Murtagh’s eyes popped open in an instant. “Actually we did.”

Eragon felt Murtagh’s leg twitch from where it was slotted between both of his own and watched as he seemed to come to terms with the position he had woken up in. He looked across Eragon’s chest before flicking his gaze to his face. He looked just how Eragon felt: not as panicked as he probably should be. For a couple of minutes the two of them just kind of... stared at each other until Murtagh finally broke the eye contact and looked over at the opposite wall. Eragon returned his own gaze to the ceiling. The silence stretched on for a couple more minutes before Murtagh let out a hesitant, “Uhh... So... Should we just... pretend this never happened and never speak of it again? Or should we just brush it off and maybe laugh about it occasionally later or-”

“No.”

“That- that wasn’t a yes or no question...”

“Neither. We can’t just brush it off. I think we need to talk about it.”

“Oh.”

Eragon got the impression that talking about this was not going to be on the list of options Murtagh had started to give. As the uncomfortable silence started creeping back in, Eragon realized that he kind of didn’t have a plan for talking about this either. What was the etiquette for the morning after accidental drunken sex with your own brother? Fuck, his head was pounding. He was still trying to find a way to start when, to his great surprise, Murtagh did it for him. “So, I suppose you remember about, you know... me?”

When Eragon looked back down at Murtagh, he saw him still staring at the wall, a flush rising in his cheeks and ears. Eragon blushed in kind. “If you’re talking about the, ah, the stuff downstairs then, yeah, I remember,” he managed to mumble out. Murtagh didn’t reply but Eragon felt him stiffen against him and he let out a sigh. With a frown, he tried again. “I’m not going to spit on you or do anything like tell anyone. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Eragon paused and thought for a moment, then said, “I mean, I don’t really understand it but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna give you grief about it. By now, I think I’ve learned that just because I don’t understand something, that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Though I’ll admit I’m curious, I’m not going to insist you explain yourself or anything.”

Murtagh relaxed marginally and let out a faint sigh. After a moment, he said quietly, “It’s just that it’s-  _ I’ve- _ always been like that. I was born with a body that... didn’t agree with my mind. My body said woman and my mind said man, and as I grew up, I had to figure out which one I would let define me. I knew what felt right, I knew  _ who I was _ , and I decided that my body should hold no sway over that. Over who I am. I’ve have the chance to change some parts of my body-” he made a loose gesture at his torso and Eragon recalled the faint twin scars lining his chest- “but- how did you put it, ‘the stuff downstairs?’- that’s not quite as simple to change, so... so that’s stayed the same.”

Not sure how to respond, Eragon simply stayed silent. He tried to think of something to say; after his brother told him something so personal he felt like he should have some sort of response. Without thinking he blurted out, “You looked good though.” More tingling shot through Eragon’s arm as Murtagh turned his head to stare at him. He felt his face heat up in an instant. “That’s- that’s not what I meant- well, I mean, I  _ did _ mean it, it’s just- That’s not what I find attractive about you; I’m sure you’d look perfect no matter what you had-” Murtagh’s eyebrows were creeping higher and higher as Eragon continued his blathering- “Not- not that appearance is what’s important! I’m not that vai- you know, feel free to stop me any time, I’m just-”

“Yeah, okay.” Murtagh swung around the arm that was curled over Eragon’s chest so that his hand laid limply over Eragon’s face (now bright crimson), effectively cutting off his jabbering. When Murtagh finally moved his gaze away from his brother, Eragon let out a breath of relief. The hand stayed for a few moments before Murtagh set it gently on his chest instead and asked softly, “What  _ do  _ you find attractive about me?”

“What?” Eragon squeaked in an undignified way that a Rider  _ definitely, would never _ squeak.

“You said that that’s not what you find attractive about me. If not that, then... what is it?” When Eragon still didn’t reply, he prompted further, “If you had to name one thing, what do you find the most attractive about me?”

After another moment of hesitation Eragon answered, “The way you laugh.” Murtagh’s eyebrows quirked. “I mean when you really laugh,” Eragon said in response to the unspoken question. “When you throw your head back and just laugh you can see the weight of the world fall off of your shoulders, and it’s just... beautiful, I suppose...”

“Oh.”

When the resulting silence grew too heavy for Eragon to bear, he asked, “Well, what do you find most attractive about  _ me _ ?” He felt Murtagh flinch slightly. “Surely there must be at least something, if you were willing to sleep with me last night. Honestly, you can just say it’s my ass, I wouldn’t be offended.”

“You do have a lovely ass,” Murtagh said with a snicker, “but no, that’s not it...” He let out a long sigh. “The way you talk about the things you love, I’d say. When your face lights up and you can just see how passionate you are. It’s really wonderful.”

Eragon couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

With a nervous glance down, Eragon accidently caught his brother’s eye. Part of him wanted nothing more than to look away but he couldn’t do it. Murtagh stared right back. They both kept looking until Murtagh abruptly said, “Are we in love with each other?”

“I- Gods, I-” Eragon released a strangled laugh and lifted his hand from Murtagh’s back to drag it through his hair. “Fuck, I’m way too hungover to answer a question like that.” He looked back down. “What do you say to getting up and trying to recover?”

“...Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came up with this idea in one morning and, to be honest, I'm still not sure why I'm writing this. Murtagh's pov next chapter. I'm not entirely sure what's gonna happen so hopefully I get that one figured out.
> 
> EDIT After spending a while away from this fic I realized I made some serious typing mistakes in the section that I used in the description which is so like me to do. So yeah, I fixed that. If anyone notices any other blaring mistakes do let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

_ I am never consuming another drop of alcohol again in my life, _ Murtagh thought through the aching in his skull. Then again, he’d said that before when he was young, yet here he was, hungover as all hell, sitting naked on his brother’s bed, wiping vomit from the side of his mouth. He hadn’t managed to do more than roll upright before he’d gotten sick. Eragon had just barely shoved the waste bin under his nose in time, but the experience remained both unpleasant and embarrassing. Eragon had since awkwardly excused himself to the other room, and Murtagh sat alone, trying to control his dizziness.

When he finally felt better, if only marginally, Murtagh slowly stood up and let out a groan. Even though he couldn’t remember last night he could certainly feel it. As he shuffled over to his clothes, he tried to ignore the faint ache between his thighs and the flush it brought to his cheeks. He struggled into his pants but when he leaned down to grab his shirt, something caught in his peripherals. Murtagh turned to see himself reflected in a mirror on the wall. He looked himself over, noting some bruises and bite marks dotting his neck and shoulders. However, from what he had seen of Eragon, he knew he had fared better on that front.  _ He must have tasted pretty good, _ his mind supplied entirely unhelpfully. Murtagh shook his head.

He pulled on his undershirt but didn’t bother with anything else, figuring that the time for propriety was past. Moving to the door, he shoved it open and staggered into the next room. Eragon looked up from where he sat at the table and picked up a glass of ice water sitting next to him and held it out. Murtagh grabbed it and grunted his thanks. They both sat, nursing their drinks in silence until a sudden shrill sound erupted from the other side of the room. Murtagh groaned, set his forehead on the table, and covered his ears with his arms. Eragon stood and walked in the direction of the sound. Only when something was set on the table in front of him a couple minutes later, did Murtagh look up again. He looked over at Eragon, returning to his own seat, then down at the cup. “Tea?” he inquired and Eragon shrugged.

“Trust me, it’ll help.” He paused. “It’s just something Brom taught me,” Eragon said, sounding slightly wistful.

Murtagh flinched. He regretted that he hadn’t been able to save Eragon’s father. He knew that Eragon wished that he could have know Brom as a father and although Eragon certainly didn’t blame him for Brom’s death, he still felt a small pang of guilt whenever he talked about him.  _ If I had known more about healing, or maybe if I had just attacked the Ra’zac sooner... _ He shoved those thoughts out of his mind. There was nothing he could do about the past now.

The moment Murtagh changed his train of thought, however, his mind instantly returned to the question he had asked earlier.  _ Speaking of past regrets, _ he thought bitterly. He had always held a deep affection for Eragon, but he had never considered that those feelings might be romantic before today. Although, to be fair, he had never woken up naked in Eragon’s bed before today either, but that went without saying. Murtagh thought back to what he had said when Eragon asked what he found attractive about him. He remembered the warm feeling that spread through his chest at the thought of Eragon gushing about his favorite novel that he’d read a million times, or launching into a childhood story of Roran (“Have I told you this one?” Eragon would always ask. “I don’t think so,” Murtagh would always lie.), or explain something new he’d observed in the wildlife recently. He remembered the way he would gesture expansively with his hands as he jabbered, and the way his eyes would shine as he smiled...

Murtagh swore silently as he realized the direction his thoughts had taken. He was in deep; much deeper than he had realized. Gods, was he really... was he really in love?

He finished off the tea with one swift gulp then abruptly stood, grabbing his water glass. He refilled it but didn’t return to his seat. Instead, Murtagh stayed standing, doing his damnedest to try and ignore Eragon’s eyes on the back of his head as he emptied the glass again. He stared down at it for a couple moments before blurting, without preamble, “Do you regret last night?”

Behind him, Murtagh heard Eragon choke and turned around to see him spluttering. He looked up, but not a moment later looked away again, unable to hold Murtagh’s gaze. Murtagh, however, couldn’t bring himself to stare any less intensely. He hadn’t thought about the question before he had asked it but now that he had, he realized that he needed to hear the answer. “No,” Eragon said to the wall. “At least, not yet. I suppose it’ll depend on how much of a mess this ends up being.” He paused, then looked at Murtagh again. “Do you?”

Murtagh frowned. “I-I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?” He sounded incredulous.

“Yes, I’m not sure, okay?!” Murtagh snapped throwing an arm up as he felt the heat rise in his face. He crossed his arms and tried not to look like he was pouting (which he was). “It’s just... I’d be lying if I said I remembered much of last night, alright?”

“You don’t remember anything?”

“It’s not like I forgot  _ everything _ ,” Murtagh said, indignant at first until he trailed off. He cringed. “Just, you know, almost everything...” It was true. He had some vague impressions- he remembered the smell of sweat and the feeling of bare skin against his- but that was it. Anything else from their late night pleasures was lost to him. Some part of him absentmindedly wondered if he’d been any good. “I’m sorry, I’m just not used to dealing with hangovers like this.”

Eragon’s expression softened but his frown remained. “So, I suppose you don’t remember why you wanted to, ah,” he faltered.

“Why I wanted to fuck with you?”

Eragon’s face went a very satisfying shade of crimson and he choked out, “Yeah, that.”

“No. I don’t. Sorry.” Murtagh fell silent until a sudden thought made him jolt. “Why? Do  _ you _ remember why you wanted to?”

As Murtagh watched, Eragon flinched and turned away. For a couple of painful seconds, he hesitated, and Murtagh belatedly wondered if he wanted this question answered. Then Eragon said, “I think... I think you were right with what you said...” Murtagh shot him a confused look and Eragon blushed again. “When you said that we might be in love with each other. I mean, I can’t speak for you,” he amended quickly, “but, from my end at least, I think you were right...” he finished in a faint whisper. Murtagh’s heart hammered in his chest. Eragon turned and returned his stare as Murtagh slowly walked back over to where he still sat. “I remember it feeling... right,” he continued. “Familiar, in a way. Like that was where I belonged, there with you.”

Murtagh licked his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. “It’s a shame I can’t remember that,” he said faintly.

His pulse redoubled as Eragon got to his feet. “I could help with that.”

“Oh?”

When Eragon’s lips pressed against his, Murtagh suddenly lost any capability to think of anything other than the fact that his mouth probably still tasted like vomit. He wasn’t sure how long it was before his mind screamed at him,  _ You just drank a whole bunch of tea, I’m sure it’s fine; now could you for once pay attention and not screw up something important in your life?! _ but as soon as it did, Murtagh pressed hard against Eragon’s lips. Reflexively, he brought a hand up to grasp Eragon’s jaw, pulling him closer and tilting his head for a better angle. Eragon let out a short moan then swung his arms around Murtagh’s neck and dragged him foreword until their bodies pressed together.

Murtagh ran his tongue over Eragon’s lips, trying to deepen the kiss even further and shoved a step closer.  _ Gods, it does feel right; it feels so damn- _

There was a spectacular crash as Eragon backed over his chair and smashed to the ground, dragging Murtagh with him. He only narrowly managed to avoid slamming his head into the corner of the now toppled chair. He groaned as his elbow hit the ground as he tried not to smack his forehead against Eragon’s chin. There was a pause as the brothers collected their bearings. Murtagh squirmed, struggling to kick away the chair still entangling his legs. Eragon let out a sudden whine and Murtagh froze, realizing he had accidentally slid a knee into his crotch. His core gave a hard throb as he felt him half hard, pressed up against him.

Fuck.

“Ahh- Murtagh, you need to either get away from my dick or a lot closer to it, ‘cause if you keep sitting there like that, I’m gonna go insane.”

_ Fuck. _

Murtagh shifted his weight, and the moment he finally managed to shove that stupid chair away, he moved to straddle Eragon’s hips and kissed him furiously. Eragon answered immediately, moaning shamelessly against his lips and eagerly tangling his hands in his hair. At the feeling of his brother moaning, Murtagh slid his tongue into his mouth, tasting, mapping, doing everything he could to claim the man beneath him. He wanted him. He wanted all of him. His desire rose to his skin as pure heat; he felt like he was burning. In any other situation, Murtagh would have been embarrassed about how flushed he must have been, but in the moment, he couldn’t think of anything but Eragon.

Murtagh jolted when he felt Eragon thrust himself up between his thighs. He groaned, and ground his hips down in reply, flushing further as he realized just how wet he was already. Eragon took a hand from his hair to grab his thigh instead, using the leverage to better grind up into him. Increasing his efforts in turn, Murtagh moaned and shoved down hard. Their kiss grew sloppy as they they laid there, chasing the pleasure.

Murtagh was busy trying to get his tongue as far down Eragon’s throat as he could when he shifted beneath him. He abruptly pulled back and sucked in a breath, throbbing as he felt Eragon’s cock pressing against his clit through his clothes. Noticing the change, Eragon smirked and switched the pace, rolling his hips with devastating deliberateness. Murtagh’s eyes fluttered shut. His body rocked as he surrendered to the pleasure. “Ah, Eragon, fuck-” He ducked his head back down and fixed his teeth in Eragon’s bottom lip, biting down hard. Eragon’s hips gave an abrupt lurch and he let out a long, loud whine. The reaction startled Murtagh but he didn’t pull away; his brother hardly sounded displeased. With a smile, Murtagh released Eragon’s lip and turned his attention to his neck. He nibbled his way across his skin, leaving little red marks wherever he went. Whenever he came across one of the hickies he’d made the previous night, he paused to lick and suck over the bruised skin. Murtagh relished in the way that Eragon squirmed beneath him.

At the feeling of a hard bite to the bottom of his neck, Eragon cried out and swore breathlessly. When Murtagh pulled back to grin at him, Eragon grabbed his hips and forced him over, rolling him onto his back and claiming a seat over his hips. Murtagh hit the ground a bit harder than he would have liked, but was too distracted by Eragon’s lust darkened eyes and the way his hair hung down around his sweaty face to really care about it.

Murtagh must have looked pretty shocked because Eragon gave a small pout and said, “Well, you topped last night,” sounding a touch defensive.

“Did I?”

“Still not remembering?”

Murtagh flashed Eragon a devious grin. “Ahh, why go worrying about last night, love, when there’s so much we can do right now?” Eragon’s eyes gleamed and he smiled in kind before leaning down to kiss him. Murtagh let out a faint noise, thinking that it might be better to be on bottom. He was starting to feel dizzy again, although it didn’t seem like the hangover this time. It felt like... well, something else.

With a burning hot hand, Eragon shoved up under Murtagh’s shirt, groping at the skin there for a moment before seizing the hem. Eragon eagerly pulled the shirt away, but before he could sink back down, Murtagh reached up and did the same to him. He eyed the view greedily, but Eragon didn’t give him long to look, lowering his head to nip and suck at the underside of Murtagh’s jaw.

Eragon never hesitated, working his way lower and lower down Murtagh’s body, lavishing over his chest and abdomen. Murtagh jerked and released a strangled squeak at the feeling of Eragon dipping his tongue into his navel. His brother looked up, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh? Is it possible? Could you actually be  _ ticklish _ ?”

Murtagh squirmed, suddenly feeling distinctly uncomfortable, and snapped, “Don’t you have more important things to be doing right now?”

“Hmm, luckily for you, you’re right,” Eragon said, eyes still gleaming. He slid his tongue over the bottom of Murtagh’s stomach and he shuddered. He knew that was going to come back and bite him later, but he couldn’t really bother to focus on it.

When Eragon reached the edge of his hip bone, he stopped moving. Instead, he turned all his attention to the area, nipping and nibbling before sucking hard, making Murtagh whine as he thought about the mark that was sure to leave. Eragon was absolutely relentless, working his lips, tongue, and teeth over his skin, driving him up the wall. Murtagh moaned and thrashed before gasping out, “Ah- fuck, stop teasing and get on with it already!”

Eragon pulled back and looked up. Muragh shifted forward to grip the edge of his pants and gave a suggestive tug. Eragon smirked and started to work them down. Murtagh grabbed the belt buckle and fumbled with it until Eragon smacked his hands away and undid it himself. Murtagh turned his attention to the remainder of his own clothes. Lifting his hips, he tried to awkwardly shimmy out of his pants and underwear while still being straddled. He had gotten them down to his knees when a swift yank from Eragon finished ripping them off. Startled, Murtagh looked up at Eragon who, too distracted by his bare body, didn’t look back. Murtagh flushed under the scrutiny.

When Eragon finally met his eye, it was with a smirk. “Just as gorgeous as I remember.”

Before Murtagh could find a proper response to  _ that _ , Eragon leaned down to kiss him while placing and a hand on his thigh that slid up, up, up until he could feel the undeniable wetness. Maddeningly ignoring the  _ important _ area, Eragon slid his fingers through the hair next to his labia. “Someone’s pretty eager,” he murmured against his lips.

Murtagh moaned and lifted his thigh so that it bumped into Eragon’s erection. “I don’t think you’re really in a position to talk.” He paused, panting slightly as Eragon edged closer to his opening. “Besides, I think I said something along the lines of-  _ ah _ \- ‘stop teasing?’”

Eragon halted. “Yes, I think you did,” he purred and moved his hand to Murtagh’s core which throbbed appreciatively. He ran his fingers back and forth a few times before he stilled and started to slowly press two inside. Murtagh whined and rocked down, trying to get his brother to speed up. He set a steady pace, pumping his fingers in and out, starting to twist and curl into the right spots. They splayed open and Eragon slid in a third, moving a bit faster.

Murtagh twisted and turned under the attention, breath quickening until he couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh, enough! I’m ready, now just get inside me!” Eragon jerked his head up and Murtagh blushed. “That is- I mean, do you want to?”

He responded with a shaky yet extremely eager smile. “Oh, Gods yes,” he said breathlessly, taking himself in hand and lining himself up. His eyes flicked to Murtagh’s face one more time and when he nodded, Eragon slowly pressed forward. Murtagh sighed and let his head fall back at the feeling. “Oh, fuck, Murtagh,  _ ahh _ ,” he heard Eragon gasp somewhere above him. His cock slid deeper and deeper until, finally, it was in as far as it could.

There was a pause where both of them hardly dared to breathe. Then, Murtagh shifted and rocked his hips forward, pulling a moan from their throats. Eragon took the cue and pulled out before driving back in. He started with short, slow thrusts but soon took up the pace, answering Murtagh’s needy groans with his own. As Eragon speed up, Murtagh moaned, his walls sore with the memories of last night. The ache was faint, but it added something to the overwhelming stimulation. Stopping didn’t even cross his mind. Instead, Murtagh snapped his hips up harder, meeting each of Eragon’s thrusts in rhythm.

Murtagh looked up again when he felt Eragon slow and grab one of his thighs. At Eragon’s subsequent tug and wicked grin, Murtagh wrapped his legs around his hips and locked his ankles behind him. Eragon slammed forward again and gasped as the new position allowed him to slip even deeper than before. With renewed vigor, he picked up the pace, rocking them back and forth with every thrust.

Desperate to ground himself in the dizzying pleasure, Murtagh grabbed a hold of Eragon’s shoulders. When he racked his nails down his back, Eragon whined and shuddered from head to toe. He dropped his head into the crook of Murtagh’s neck, chanting, “Murtagh, Murtagh, Murtagh,” under his breath, rolling his hips all the while.

Murtagh thrashed under the mounting feeling of  _ almost, almost, almost _ . Eragon shifted again and slammed into his g-spot. Murtagh seized one of Eragon’s arms and wailed “Fuck-  _ touch _ me!” and Eragon- bless him- obeyed the demand instantly, yanking his arm away to shove his thumb against Murtagh’s clit, rubbing rough circles over the bundle of nerves. He cried out and threw his head back, jerking under the sudden spikes of pleasure.

Without realizing it, Murtagh clenched down on Eragon’s member as he worked over his clit. Drowning as he was in his own pleasure, Murtagh didn’t notice him getting closer and closer to the edge until he hilted himself one last time with a shout. Eragon sank his teeth into Murtagh’s neck as he held there, trembling as he came.

When Murtagh finally managed to regain his wits, he felt Eragon slipping out of him and he whined as loudly as he could at the loss; he was too far gone to care about how needy he sounded. Eragon looked up at the noise, still appearing a bit dazed from his orgasm, but a determined expression spread across his face when he recognized the way that Murtagh still squirmed beneath him. He moved down his body, stopping to throw Murtagh’s legs over his shoulders before he suddenly had his head between his legs, mouthing fervently at his slit. Eragon slid his tongue inside, seeking out every sensitive nerve and Murtagh bucked up, gasping, looking for more. Eragon pulled back and, right as Murtagh was about to complain, raised his lips to his clit instead. He shoved his tongue hard over the nub. Reflexively, Murtagh’s hand flew to Eragon’s head and fixed a harsh grip in his hair, desperate to keep him there.

A pair of fingers teased over his opening until the pressed inside, wasting no time in speeding up, working beneath Eragon’s chin. Murtagh whimpered as the stimulation built, his brother’s ceaseless ministrations pushing him closer to completion. He rocked down against Eragon’s mouth until finally,  _ finally _ , his peak crashed over him. Murtagh arched off the floor, eyes rolling back as he clamped viciously around Eragon’s fingers. He couldn’t manage more than hitched, broken gasps until the pleasure receded and he collapsed back to the floor, panting.

After a moment, Eragon pulled back and moved up to drop down next to him. Murtagh kept his eyes on the ceiling and listened to the sounds of harsh breathing fill the room. He ignore his muscles twitching in the aftershocks and tried to reorganize his thoughts. That- that sure was something. Fuck. No chance of brushing this off now. Drunk sex was one thing, but sober sex... Well, now he  _ really _ couldn’t worm his way out of this. But strangely enough, he didn’t find himself wanting to.  _ If being in this mess, and one hell of a mess this is, means being next to Eragon, then maybe it won’t turn out so bad. _ It felt strange- no, not strange- different,  _ right _ , to be together like this. It felt... well... like-

“You know, I think I like the sex better than the awkward post sex silence.”

Murtagh turned at Eragon’s interjection in his thoughts. He gazed at his flushed cheeks and kiss swollen lips for a moment before he collected himself enough to reply, “Well that’s too bad, ‘cause the awkward post sex silence is an intrinsic part of the experience. Without that, how would we get all the joys of our crippling self doubt, shame driven second guessings, and the slow but devastating realization of our own internalized incestuous pinings? This is highly serious stuff, Eragon.”

They managed to hold each other’s gaze for a few more seconds then broke into laughter. Murtagh rolled his head back and closed his eyes, smiling lazily at the sound of his brother’s laugh. “Right,” Eragon said between fits of giggles, “how dare I not appreciate the gifts of the awkward post sex silence? I mean, it’s probably the only reason people have sex in the first place.” He chuckled softly and scooched to Murtagh’s side. He paused then asked, “Have you really pined over me?”

“I’m not sure. Does it still count as pining if you don’t realize you’re doing it?”

“Does that actually matter, or are you just avoiding the question?”

“Ah, beautiful  _ and _ smart; I’m doomed.” Eragon looked at him, big brown eyes earnest and full of yearning, and Murtagh knew he could never lie to him. “It feels like love,” he confessed. “Well, it feels like huge disaster just waiting to happen, but it also feels like love. And perhaps I’m just being a foolish romantic, but I think that if... if you love me back, then that would be well worth a huge disaster.” Murtagh blushed and squirmed, self conscious of his speech. When he looked back at Eragon, he wore the sincerest, most loving smile, and Murtagh felt himself relax.

“Oh, Murtagh, you are a foolish romantic.” Murtagh almost choked on his own spit as he spluttered indignantly, but before he could figure out how to start backpedaling, Eragon interrupted. “But that makes two of us.” With a snap, Murtagh closed his jaw and stared at Eragon, face bright red.

Without a word, Eragon leaned in slowly, bringing his lips to rest over Murtagh’s. The kiss was soft, quiet, and chaste, but felt infinitely more meaningful than all of the kisses they had shared before. Murtagh brought a hand up, delicately tracing Eragon’s jaw with his fingertips. They parted and it took Murtagh a moment to let his eyes flutter back open. When he did, the look on Eragon’s face made his breath hitch. His eyes burned with emotion, intense and captivating; some part of him felt inordinately pleased that he was the one that had made his brother feel like that. “I love you,” Murtagh whispered, words drawn from his mouth without thought.

Eragon broke into a grin, eyes gleaming with fondness. “I love you too.” Still smiling, he rested his head on Murtagh’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Murtagh did the same, relishing in the simple joy of having Eragon next to him. The silence stretched on so long that Murtagh had started to doze off when Eragon abruptly spoke again.

“We’re a mess.”

Murtagh reopened his eyes and frowned. “Listen, I know this’ll be tricky but I’m sure we can figure it out. We just have to-”

“No, I mean literally. We’re disgusting. We need a fucking shower.”

“Oh. Yeah, you’re probably right. And we need to wash the sheets and clean the floor and-”

“One thing at a time, Murtagh.” They smiled at each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A list of things in smut that I don't believe in:  
> 1) the magical simultaneous orgasms  
> 2) everyone with a vagina shaving their pubes


End file.
